


Thus With A Kiss

by sessrumnir



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Graphic Description of Corpses, Happy Ending, M/M, Necromancy, Romeo and Juliet AU, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 04:44:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16256909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sessrumnir/pseuds/sessrumnir
Summary: There could have been screaming and tears, had it been anyone else. But Ryan Bergara is not—and never was—one to despair in the face of death.





	Thus With A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! this isn't supposed to be a direct adaptation nor is the prose supposed to resemble shakespeare's. idk what this is supposed to resemble. lol 
> 
> **cw: graphic description of suicide.**

Two households, both alike in dignity. Or, well. Sort of alike.

It was no secret that the Bergaras and the Madejs were opposites in the misery their rivalry brought forth to Engel. The city, called The City of Angels by anyone who had ever set foot in it, had once been a place of peace and progress. Now, it barely seemed to remember what either of those words meant.

It’s in the deeper chambers of a castle that our story begins. A youthful man of strong arms and dark hair lies in rest, hands clasped over his stomach. The scene is serene; there is not the sound of wind, and the fire that casts trembling shadows on the stone walls is sparse and minimal. There is no life down here. A look at the young man’s face could tell you the same.

Large steps echo through the chamber before the heavy door is yanked open. Tall, of lithe frame and fancy dress, Shane Madej steps forth into the chamber. The belt around his thin waist, instead of carrying a sword like it is common for his household members, carries a small, cylindrical instrument. At that moment, Shane does not think of it or of anything else. He sees the man lying unmoving on stone, and says,

“ _No_.”

His once firm steps are uncertain now. One step, two, and he falls to his knees. His eyes well up with tears as he takes in the form of Ryan Bergara, lying peacefully in death.

“No! Ryan. Why would you do such foolish thing?”

There is no answer, for his words echo emptily in the stone surrounding them. In slow, hesitant gestures, Shane touches the folded hands of Ryan. His cries grow louder with the touch. Ryan is cold, too cold. His skin is paler than it ever was, and the warmth has left his body with no return.

“You are not leaving me here by myself, my friend.”

With the words, Shane stands up again and wipes at his running nose. In a flourish his dagger is in his left hand, having been extracted from where it had been pressing coldly against his leg. It takes much less than Shane imagines it does to slice his own wrists, the red flowing freely and incessantly as soon as the blade clatters to the ground. Lying with his friend, his companion, his beloved, Shane does not fight the life leaving his body. His eyes close while still watching the pale face beside him.

It would have been a tale of misery and pain if not for what happened next. Later, with Shane’s blood still fresh between them, the body that had been stiff up until that point shakes awake. Ryan Bergara sits up with a gasp, inhaling air that his lungs had not experienced in more than the strike of a clock. The color slowly returns to his complexion; he flexes his hands and legs, that must feel numb after so much in that position.

It is in that movement of flexing his fingers that Ryan sees the red tainting his hand, running down his arm. He is sitting in a pool of blood and his eyes fall on the figure next to him. Shane looks peaceful, if not for the horrific scene in which he found himself.

There could have been screaming and tears, had it been anyone else. But Ryan Bergara is not—and never was—one to despair in the face of death. With a sigh, Ryan brushes the hair out of Shane’s face.

“What have you done, you silly lobcock?”

With practiced agility, Ryan steps down from the stone now painted with blood and takes off the handkerchief stored in his coat. He does what he thinks is necessary to minimize the appearance of death and tragedy from Shane’s cold, lifeless body. As lovingly as he can, he picks him up and throws him over one shoulder. That way, he hopes, no one in the Bergara household will recognize the man he’s carrying as one of the Madejs--much less the Madej heir.

“Up we go, then,” Ryan says to Shane, or to the empty chamber; both just as unlikely to answer.

The moon goes high in the sky and very few servants are on the way to Ryan’s chambers. It is especially gratifying that the corridor which leads to his study is empty. That allows him to push the door open with a grunt, carrying Shane’s body with him.

It is a different place, but not so different from the downstairs chambers when it comes to details. The light is sparse, the walls are cold, and there is a slab of stone in the middle of it, used as a table for the many pots and substances Ryan has so much proud in. He clears it up to the best of his abilities and lays Shane down, taking good care to keep his beloved’s head from hitting the stone. Ryan stifles a giggle; Shane’s legs are too long, and his feet are dangling from the table. But it is no matter.

“It is a good thing we are having a full moon, you see,” he tells Shane as he starts going through his books and ingredients. “You would have called me a fool for picking such a night for my endeavor but that was just our luck. Yours, but mine too, because what makes you think you have any right to leave this world without me?”

The wind blows cold outside, but when Ryan opens Shane’s coat and shirt and touches his chest with wormwood, there is a gush of hot air. Ryan smiles. That, in the beliefs of the Bergaras before him, indicated a presence. A soul, not yet departed. A love, not yet fulfilled. He recites the incantation with care, letting the words acquaint themselves with his tongue--for this is not anything he has done in a while, and nothing he has ever done for himself. His thumb paints Shane’s forehead with cinnamon powder and Ryan cannot explain how, in spite of everything and everyone, he came to love this man so fiercely. He only knows he does, and that knowledge is as powerful as anything this night.

Ryan leans down to press his lips to Shane’s, whispering against his lips the last words of the incantation. There is a beat, for magic is not something to be hurried along but respected in its patience, Ryan knows, and then life. Shane’s eyelids flutter as he sucks in the first breath of his second life.

“Welcome back,” Ryan says with love, with patience, with the understanding that he was starting to miss the chocolate of those eyes and the curve of those lips. “You are an idiot.”

“Ryan?”

Shane tries to stand up, but Ryan puts a hand on his shoulders.

“Your soul needs a minute to find all the right nooks inside of you. Give it time.”

“My soul? Ryan, you are… I thought you were dead. Were you not dead?”

“Of course not,” and now Ryan is putting away the ingredients, closing books. The sun is rising in the horizon, he realizes now. Just in time. “Why should I be, if I have not yet lived my life by your side, for years and years, like I promised?”

Shane is watching him with tired, confused eyes. It is the moment for his body and soul to reconnect with each other, Ryan knows, but it still feels wrong to make Shane anxious as such. In the most delicate of movements, Ryan places another kiss on Shane’s lips, feeling him respond to it this time. Instead of words, Ryan takes Shane’s hand in his, touches with caution the now closed, scarred marks on his wrists.

“I could not let you go,” he says. Shane, hearing this, sits up and cups Ryan’s face.

“I could not let you go.”

“Are we not the most stupid of men?”

“If the most stupid of men have also the biggest, brightest love. Then yes. Yes, I am one of them.”

Ryan cannot help but laugh, “Although perhaps we can agree to not do tragic acts of love in the future.”

“Of course. Now that we have a future.”

Their lips meet, and the warmth each feels in the other’s body is a realization of the life contained within. There are no questions, only promises. To be together. To not go alone. To not leave the other behind. And as powerful heirs who grew up to sit on thrones, their word carries value like gold.

Gold, as of what is made their own world.

 


End file.
